


Fraying and Fallen

by likeshoepolish



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/F, Femslash, Lesbians, Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-12-02
Updated: 2014-01-23
Packaged: 2018-01-03 07:38:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,919
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1067809
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/likeshoepolish/pseuds/likeshoepolish
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sansa and Margaery's relationship after the Red Wedding and Margaery and Joffrey's wedding. </p><p>(This takes place after 03x10 of Game of Thrones. This work is based off the TV show, not the book. Enjoy!)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. We Found Each Other Hungry

**Author's Note:**

> This is my very first Margaery and Sansa fic, as well as my first fic on AO3. Hopefully it turns out well.
> 
> I wrote this after getting encouragement from Jack (margaeryandsansa on Tumblr), so shout out to that lovely fellow. Hope it's OK! 
> 
> Fic title comes from my friend Kiya Davolt's poem "Herb Garden Prayer". http://kiyadavolt.bandcamp.com  
> Chapter title comes from Pablo Neruda's poem "Absence". 
> 
> Not sure how long this will go for, but I hope everyone likes it!

_“I once wanted you_  
fraying and fallen  
like a baby bird---  
unaware of her own soaring.  
I love you with more than my body.” 

_-Kiya Davolt_

 

                Sansa stared straight ahead as the handmaidens Cersei had sent over began to roll her hair to be curled into long ringlets. She was sure she was dull company for the ladies, compared to other highborn women Sansa was sure would chatter on and on. Instead, Sansa sat perked on a stool like a lady should, and watched the sky.

                _The first day of a new century,_ Sansa thought as she exhaled. _The day of Joffrey and Margaery’s wedding._  The thought made something kick into Sansa’s tummy.

                That morning had been the first where Sansa did not awake trembling and holding back a scream. Since word had spread around the Red Keep of what Walder Frey, Roose Bolton, and Tywin Lannister had ordered upon her mother, brother, and brother’s wife, she had been plagued by night terrors, where her subconscious showed her different ways they could have been murdered.

                Then, Joffrey gleefully shared every gory detail with her about what had happened at the “Red Wedding” at one of the Lannister family dinners. As soon as she and Tyrion had left the dining chamber, Sansa had doubled over and vomited right on the floor of the hall.

                After learning the truth, Sansa’s nightmares were the same for days--- full of blood, screams, and grief.

                But the morning before the royal wedding, she had awoken with a peaceful feeling in her body, instead of a dry, terrorized one. She had had a wonderful dream, one where she was back in Winterfell with all of her family. She had been embroidering with her lady mother, and then listening to one of her lord father’s stories with Rickon on her lap. The dream had ended with her sharing a featherbed with Arya, as they always had when they were in the North.

                _Yes, that was a pleasant dream,_ Sansa told herself. _What I would give to not be the only living member in a house of ghosts anymore. What I would give to have it all back._

                                                                                               

* * *

 

 

                As one of the handmaidens began to collect Sansa’s now curly hair into a net, she finally spoke.

                “Do you by chance know where Shae is?” she asked.

                “Shae?” the woman repeated, not looking up from her combs and nets.

                “My regular handmaiden. The Lorathi woman.”

                “Oh! I don’t know, my lady. I’m sorry.”

                Sansa was somewhat dismayed. Shae and Margaery were her only two friends at court (though Shae always said not to think of her as a friend). It would have been nice to have Shae help her prepare for the wedding.

                “Do you know where my lord husband is, then?” Sansa had awoken, and Tyrion had already been gone.          

                The woman smiled sadly, crinkles developing near her soil-brown eyes. “I’m afraid not, my lady.”

                Sansa gave the smallest nod, and then stared at the looking glass in front of her.

                The handmaiden---- Sansa believed her name was Elaena---- had done a splendid job with Sansa’s hair. It was in the typical southern style; with most of her auburn locks piled onto the top of her head and secured with a net, and the rest either braided or hanging down. Because she saw the significance of this occasion, Elaena had curled all of Sansa’s hair, then braided certain strands the way one would braid rope. Some were twisted around the net area, while two of the longer ones rested on her shoulders.

                “You did a fantastic job,” Sansa said to her. “Thank you.”

                Elaena blushed. “My lady is too kind. Come, Perra has your gown.”

                Cersei had sent the gown to Sansa and Tyrion’s shared chambers a week earlier. Sansa had paid barely any mind to it, so she was surprised when she found that it was absolutely lovely.

                It was a beautiful, light shade of violet, with the feel of satin to the fabric. The sleeves nearly dropped to her ankles. _It’s prettier than any gown they’ve given me since I’ve been here. Prettier than the one I wore to my own wedding. I hope they’ll let me wear it again._

As Perra and Elaena were just finishing lacing it up on her, Tyrion walked in. It all felt strangely similar to the hours before her own wedding, which made Sansa feel even more ill. Still, she turned to him.

                Tyrion had already changed into his attire for the wedding: a golden doublet, with a crimson jerkin over it. Imprinted on the breast was the Lannister lion.

                “You look very handsome, my lord,” she said meekly, repeating what she had said to him right before they were married. They had not spoken much since the rest of her family was killed. In truth, Sansa even blamed him a little bit for it--- just because he was a Lannister. Sansa knew it was childish and wrong, but she could not help it.

                Tyrion gave a sad, breathy chuckle. “Thank you, my lady. You look extraordinary. Shall--”

                Suddenly, there was a sharp tapping at the door. Perra scurried to answer it.

                One of Joffrey’s Kingsguard stepped through the doorway. Sansa couldn’t remember this one’s name--- she was sure he was new to the command.

                He bowed to Sansa. “My lady. The Lady Margaery Tyrell would like to visit you.”

                She drew in a breath, furrowed her brow. _Why does she want to see me before the ceremony?_ Still, she knew she could not reject her friend’s request. She would be Queen by the end of the day, after all.

                “She can come in,” Sansa said with a nod.

                “The Lady Margaery also requests that you meet alone,” the knight replied.

                Looking to her handmaidens, they nodded, and left with Tyrion.

                The knight bowed at her again, then trailed behind them, leaving the door open for Margaery.

                A moment  later, she was there, walking very slowly. Sansa could not help but let her jaw drop.

 Her friend had always been beautiful, but today she looked absolutely radiant.

                For once, her hair was down and swimming down her back, with curls combed through them.  Her gown was ivory with gold finishing, sleeveless, and a train that she nearly closed the door on. Someone had dabbed a bit of rogue to her cheeks, but not too much.

                “My lady, you look beautiful,” Sansa said softly, taking Margaery’s hands into hers.

                Margaery laughed. “Oh, thank you, sweetheart. Promise me you won’t call me ‘my lady’ or ‘Your Grace’, though. I’m just Margaery with you.”

                Sansa smiled shyly, blushing a little bit. “All right. Margaery.”

                Margaery laughed again, then motioned Sansa to sit.

                They were at the table where Tyrion would read his books. Sansa used to sometimes sit there with him, joking around with him. They hadn’t done that in a while.

                Margaery and Sansa still clasped one another’s hands as they faced each other from across.

                “Why are you here? Don’t you have to be in your chambers?”

                Margaery rolled her eyes. “Well, Cersei said I should, as it is tradition for a bride to do so. But I hated being cooped up.” She gave Sansa’s hands a squeeze. “I wanted to see you.”

                Sansa could feel color rising into warmth on her face. She grinned, the way she always found herself grinning when Margaery was around. “You did?”

                “Of course I did! We’ve barely seen one another in the past weeks. Tell me, how are you feeling?”

                The question dropped like an anvil in her stomach. As a hostage of the Lannisters, she loathed being asked that--- even if Margaery was asking it. Sansa knew she could be fairly honest with her friend, which was a trait she had to dispose of when she was around Joffrey or Cersei.

                She sighed. “Well, it’s been difficult. I’m sure you heard what happened at the Twins.”

                Margaery’s face suddenly fell. “Sansa, I’m such an idiot. I forgot for a moment. I’m so sorry. That must have been awful for me ask.”

                “No! It’s all right! You’ve been so busy.”

                “Do you want to talk about it at all? We have another few minutes before I must leave.”

                Sansa was touched by Margaery’s selflessness, but she still shook her head. “No, really. Today needs to be a happy day for you. Do not let my troubles burden you.”

                Margaery’s right hand reached over and squeezed one of Sansa’s wrists. “You will never be a burden to me,” she said softly. “You are such a lovely part of my life, Sansa. I love you more than most in this damned city. _I love you_.”

                Sansa’s breath struck through her throat and choked her. She could feel the heat of tears pooling in her eyes, but she immediately blinked them back.

                It seemed it had been eons since someone had said that to her. She couldn’t remember ever even uttering those words to anyone in King’s Landing—in fact, it was one of her largest regrets that she had never said it to her father or Arya in their last months together as a family.

                To hear those words again brought a cooling feeling to her parched heart.

                “I… I love you too, Margaery,” she finally said sincerely. “I really do. You are my best friend here.”

                Margaery looked down and smiled shyly. “I must ask you something, Sansa. And you may think me mad, but you must hear me out.”

                Sansa nodded for her to continue.

                “I want to kiss you, Sansa. I have not kissed someone since I was married to Renly. The Queen Regent never allowed it with Joffrey—though I don’t entirely want to kiss him, even though I will today. I feel the desire to be kissed today, but I do not want my first kiss in ages to be from Joffrey. I want it to be from someone I genuinely love. And that is you.

                “But I won’t do it if you don’t want me to. I just… wanted to ask.”

                Sansa still felt breathless, and quite confused. She wanted to say yes, to allow Margaery this because it felt like the right thing to do—and because Sansa also secretly wanted it.

                But Sansa was not stupid, and neither was Margaery. She knew of the danger that would come from their kiss. The Gods, old and new, they saw it as unfit for two men or two women to make romantic contact. Sansa was married, and Margaery would be within the hour—to a king, no less.

                _Damn the gods.  They’ve taken too much from me. Damn what they think. Damn our husbands. I will kiss this girl if I want to._

                Sansa looked straight into Margaery’s gentle brown eyes, standing from her chair and walking over to her. She tucked a loose strand of hair back behind Margaery’s ear, her hand cupped over the girl’s gentle face.

                “Yes,” Sansa whispered with a consenting nod.

                Margaery smiled, reaching over to stroke Sansa’s cheek. Holding her chin between two fingers, Margaery leaned over and their lips met.

                Sansa had been kissed twice in her life—once by Joffrey, after he gave her the lion pendant, and once, very briskly, at her wedding ceremony, by Tyrion.

                This kiss, from Margaery, was very different. It was slow and sweet. Her lips were thick with some kind of honey-like concoction used to bring color to them, and they tasted lovely. Sansa could not help but smile as they kissed.

                Margaery was the one to pull away. When she did, she smiled again, and reached down for Sansa’s hand. With their fingers interlocked, they stood.

                “Thank you, Sansa,” Margaery said, stroking one of Sansa’s rope braids. “That was wonderful. Will I see you after the ceremony?”

                Sansa was still speechless, so she just nodded.

                Margaery quickly kissed Sansa’s cheek, then walked out of the room, leaving the door open behind her. 

 

 


	2. Half a Moon of a Chance

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So so sorry for the delay in the chapter. I have been busy with a lot of other writing stuff, and I admittedly forgot about this project. But here is the second chapter! I kind of can't write long pieces these days, so this may be a little short.
> 
> Title comes from "The 'I Like You' Poem" by Warsan Shire. 
> 
> I hope you all enjoy! 
> 
> NOTE: I'm not sure if these are spoilers, but I've included the names of Margaery's parents in the books. I think those will be revealed in Season 4? I just wanted to let you all know though.

As Sansa walked through the streets of King’s Landing towards the sept with the rest of the nobles, she could feel it stirring, as though they were all in a cook’s pot of stew, a wooden spoon right in the heart of the Capital. Everybody was buzzing like a nest of honeybees, anxious for the wedding to start.

  
But nothing was quite stirring the way Sansa’s insides were.

  
On the one hand, she was excited. It was true, she had always admired the Tyrell girl, but there had been feelings she hadn’t identified at any point, until that kiss. Until the kiss, Sansa had thought of Margaery as a sister, a figure in her life that could take away light up every dark corner of her hell—even if it was for only an hour or so.   
But Sansa was also afraid. Thoughts raced through her too quickly: what if someone besides the young guard saw Margaery go into her chambers? Even worse, what if someone had somehow seen the kiss exchanged between them? Through the pesky crack in her door, perhaps?

  
“Oh, I simply can’t wait to see the Lady Margaery’s gown!” Sansa heard a woman by the name of Nymella Fredden say to another unidentifiable noble lady. “I wonder if it will be embroidered with roses. Or maybe lions and stags?”

  
_A dress embroidered with lions and stags would look absolutely hideous_ , Sansa thought to herself. She had never really spoken to lady Nymella—she had only seen her at court a few times. Sansa only knew she was from the Reach, and married to a balding lord. Yet despite their lack of knowledge about each other, Sansa had a sudden urge to tell this woman about Margaery’s dress.

  
_“It is beautiful,”_ she would say. _“Simply beautiful. No lions or stags—just some simple, small roses. There is gold finishing and a train so long I can’t believe she didn’t trip when I saw her. Margaery… she will truly be a great Queen; better than I ever would have been.”_

Yes, that is what Sansa would say, if only she was a free. If only she was another buzzing noble, with not a care in the world.

  
Suddenly, her husband’s voice pulled her out of her swimming thoughts. “Lady Sansa?” he said in a questioning tone.

She turned to him, still walking in the crowd. “Yes, my lord?”

Tyrion looked down and cleared his throat. “You’ve just been very quiet. Are you feeling ill?”

  
Sansa felt her face redden. She appreciated his concern, yet it had made her feel uncomfortable since Robb and her mother had been killed. “No, my lord. I’m all right. I’m just thinking about how beautiful the ceremony will be.”

  
He forced a smile, having given up on asking her to call him by his name. “I do not blame you. Tell me, how beautiful was Lady Margaery’s dress?”

Her eyes shifted, hoping not to draw Lady Nymella’s attention. Yet she could not speak softly. “It… it’s beautiful. She is a Queen. That is for certain.”

  
Tyrion did not respond; he just stared straight ahead of him.

  
Luckily, in that moment they reached the Great Sept of Baelor. Since Sansa and Tyrion were part of the King’s family (Sansa shuddered at that fact), they were escorted by a man in red and yellow garbs to the front, with Lord Tywin, Cersei, and Ser Jaime, who had returned to King’s Landing right after news spread of the last of the free Starks being killed.   
Half of Sansa wanted to ask the man countless questions—how did he manage to get back to King’s Landing? Who was this woman they were talking of that helped him back to the South?

  
But Ser Jaime had always been cold, especially towards her family. So, she decided that she had to keep her mouth shut, and still continue to do her duty.   
Sansa peered over her shoulder to the crowds. There had to be thousands of people crammed into the sept. It seemed many of them didn’t have any room for themselves. _I suppose this is a positive note to being who I am_ , Sansa though somewhat cynically.

  
As she continued to look at the people behind her, she felt a finger lightly tap at her. She turned abruptly, only to see none other than Jaime Lannister standing before her. Sansa wondered if he was a mind reader—though, he would be a mind reader with some kind of delay.

  
“Ser Jaime,” Sansa said with a curtsey.

  
“My lady,” he returned. It was at this time, she was able to get a good look at him. His hair had been cut quite short, and he was dressed in all different kinds of satins. And finally, Sansa knew it was true—his sword hand had been cut from his body. She could see that plainly in that moment.

  
“I know this isn’t very good timing,” the knight continued. “But I haven’t seen you too much since I came back to King’s Landing. I wanted to tell you… how sorry I am. Your family… I wish I could have stopped my father from ordering that to happen. Your mother, she freed me. She freed me to get you back. I wish I could have paid my part of the debt.”

  
Sansa stared blankly at Ser Jaime as her eyes began to fill with tears. Her mind once again began to fill with thousands of thoughts— _“How dare you?”_ Sansa wanted to say. _“Why must you bring this up on a day where I am supposed to be silent and honorable? Now, I will only be able to think of my family.”_  
But Sansa also wanted to thank him. His intentions were kind, after all.

  
Before either of them could say anything, the vast doors slowly flipped open. Sansa turned once again to see a crowned figure stand before them all. King Joffrey slowly raised a hand at a trying speed, then strutted down the steps, down the aisle to the front of the sept. As the Septon bowed to him, Joffrey turned and looked Sansa right in the eye, then winked at her. In response, she glared. Sansa knew it would be a little longer before Lord Mace Tyrell walked Margaery to her husband-to-be, and she spent that time staring at the floor to avoid any more conversation with Tyrion or Jaime, or even eye contact with Joffrey. Only a few minutes later did her neck begin to ache fiercely, but she ignored it. How she wanted to disappear—even thinking about her kiss with Margaery didn’t help. 

She still wanted to figure out her feelings for the Tyrell girl, but knew that moments before Margaery’s wedding wasn’t the right time to. All Sansa knew was that she had come to love Margaery quite a bit—she just had to figure out how.

Sansa heard the doors open again behind her, and saw the recognizable shadows of Margaery and her father. Their arms were linked, and they walked down the marble steps slowly. Everybody had turned, some with wide, saucer-like eyes; others had their mouths gaping open as though they are fish at a market. The bride made eye contact with quite a few of them, smiling and nodding as she goes by. How well she handles all of the attention, Sansa thought to herself. I hated having everyone watch me as Joffrey escorted me.

   
When Margaery drew herself closer into Sansa’s view, she noticed the maiden’s cloak wrapped around the Tyrell girl’s shoulders, with the end falling neatly over her train. Sansa felt envy trickle through her—despite how petty the reason was. When Sansa had been getting ready for her own wedding, they had told her she would not have a maiden cloak, something that had always been vivid in the fantasies of her wedding. They refused to tell her why. But even when she arrived at the sept, nobody gave her a cloak. All she had was the crimson and gold cloak of protection Tyrion gave her. Perhaps it was a ridiculous thing to dwell on—but all she had wanted was that thin cloth.

  
As Margaery and Lord Mace passed by the front row that Sansa stood in, the girls made direct eye contact, the way they had at Sansa’s wedding. As soon as their eyes met from yards away, Margaery’s entire face brightened even more, grinning beautifully at Sansa. And Sansa smiled back, with a heart that seemed to flutter like a butterfly’s wings behind her ribs. When Margaery turned her attention back to the space in front of her, Sansa felt those wings stop and fade away.

* * *

 

The ceremony was a long, drawn-out occasion. First, Margaery was wrapped in a crimson, gold and black cloak, with a lion on one shoulder and a stag on the other. The Septon then blessed Joffrey and Margaery five times in a row, pausing between recitations to bless them six, seven, eight more times.

  
Cersei and Lord Tywin were quite involved in the ceremony, dutifully reciting old marriage poems, drinking the same wine as the bride and bridegroom. Margaery’s parents, Lord Mace and Lady Alerie, were also involved in the same thing. Sansa noticed how much Margaery’s mother wept during the ceremony (whilst Cersei, Tywin and Mace stood with stony faces), and once again felt petty envy. What I would have given to have my mother at my wedding to weep happily for me.

  
But Sansa knew if her lady mother was at her wedding, she would have wept with grief, for Lady Catelyn had never cared for Tyrion Lannister. No, Sansa reminded herself. Had Mother and Father been at my wedding, I would not have married Tyrion. I would have married a man of an honorable family.

Just as Sansa’s feet felt as though they were going to erupt with pain from standing for so long, the Septon began to wrap Joffrey and Margaery’s hands together, to “bind their souls together as one”. He asked them to say the words, and the pair turned to each other.

  
“Father, Smith, Warrior, Mother, Maiden, Crone, Stranger,” they recited with eyes locked to one another. “I am hers, and she is mine—from this day, until the end of my days.”   
With that, Joffrey leaned over and planted a kiss on Margaery’s lips, their hands at each other chins. It became a long kiss, as the crowd applauded them more and more.   
Sansa caught herself feeling more jealousy. _What am I thinking? They have been betrothed for months now. Why am I suddenly so possessive of Margaery?_

  
Sansa knew of the Westerosi customs. Women were only allowed kiss each other the way a man would kiss a woman for the pleasure of another man. She had heard of what Tyrion had given to Joffrey for his Name Day—two brothel workers, who had kissed each other and had made love, but only when Joffrey had commanded it and watched. Of course, Joffrey had made them do other things, like beat each other.

  
_Say Margaery and I did continue some kind of… relationship. Joffrey would either be furious or delighted. He would treat us like prostitutes._

  
As Sansa had these thoughts as the royal wedding ceremony drew to a close, she realized how far ahead she was getting of herself. It was one kiss, she reminded herself. _Joffrey has kissed me. And I think of that as nothing today._

  
Perhaps that was nothing too.


End file.
